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When I land the world will be smaller. Left behind like worn out shoes, my superstitious rites will lose their magic, find themselves bereft, their spells expended. Men will count my nineteen strides like dawns on prison walls, and hoist aloft my amulet. Rivals reduced to children do not see that I will be among them once my feet return to earth. They curse the wind with enmity, mistake this grace for fortune. I will have to learn the darker side of glory, the legacy I can't forget. Can't repeat. A road I cannot trust. Upon descent, the mind returns to haunt the will. When I turn back the sand loiters like dust, settles on a world that I cannot distill--- upon a strange, invisible face, encrusts a partial silhouette. |
©1996-2003 Communiqué: An Online Literary & Arts Journal. All Rights Reserved.